


don't worrry about it!

by butsometimesicry



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Mentioned Dave | Technoblade, Other, Reader-Insert, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butsometimesicry/pseuds/butsometimesicry
Summary: i'm so sorry, this is a horrendous mess and is immensely bad. but i do hope that you enjoyed and have a lovely day. <3
Relationships: dave technoblade & reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 237





	don't worrry about it!

_“don’t worrrry about it!!”_

He had a habit of saying that— _don’t worrrry about it!_ His deep tone was always so mindlessly _casual_ and reassuring. An off-the-shoulder confirmation that he was going to be okay; no matter what; it absolutely silly to think otherwise. That didn’t stop the muscles in your arms from involuntarily tightening around his abdomen protectively, the gold chain hanging from the two brightly shining sun clasps pinned to him lightly pressing against your temple from resting your head upon his chest. 

Your accidental action and lack of response nor any more movement ironically spoke greatly for itself. You were as still as a victim of medusa’s venomous eyes— not the slightest angry, just full to the point of overspill of fret in its purest form, like liquid honey in a cauldron sailing across the storming, inky, vast black sea. 

He pulled away at once, arms breaking your stone hold as he placed his hands on the underside of your upper arms, smoothly sliding them all the way down to your hands, and holding them tender, but securely in his much bigger ones before abruptly deciding to interlace your fingers with his.

A pout was delicately painted on your mouth and wrapped around in your worried, protective eyes as you looked up at him, there were all of the indescribable words for love warmed in his and ultimate trust all to behold looking into yours. Punch pink with little flakes of scarlet and sparks of bubblegum. 

Your brain would throw fits of if there could be a moment where all of his confidence would drop to the floor in an earth-shattering clatter and there would be a moment where he was _scared_. where someone would get a spinning-gold, made a deal with the devil (if the devil had it in his heart to betray him) lucky shot at him, strike one of his major arteries and he’d bleed out in mere minutes-- seconds even. the thought had a stealthy way of tip-toeing through the long-cast shadows in run-down alleyways and creeping into your head to make your stomach clench profoundly uncomfortably. 

_If something were to happen to him, you would right there, by his side, laid next to him. Anything would be nothing without him, the moon, the stars, the exoplanets that could and have supported life surrounding them, everything. They would be absolutely_ **_nothing._ **

Sure! Techno was no stranger to getting little nicks and cuts and bruises. They were only just flesh wounds, ones that he would whine humorously about until you diligently kissed the inflicted marks better and graced his skin with medical cream. 

_occupational hazards, my love. it's nothin' to worry about._

He continued to look down at you, so tall that he almost shadowed completely, light rays prominent and engulfing behind his towering figure.

“I’ve never been proven wrong in that i don’t die.” he declared, and yet, his tone was soft, soft as the trustful, grey clouds above and as soft as the rainfall that follows, cheekiness lingering in the evergreen trees. 

Stealthily, his arms circled around you, forcing yours to have no other option than to go up to rest on his shoulders and upper back as he leaned down, peppering your face with kisses, starting from your cheekbone and attacking all the way down to the crook of your neck. You couldn’t help the grin that grew so happy and wide to the point where it hurt the cheeks that he had just kissed. It was as mindless and organic as your head now being completely tilted back, techno’s buried in the same place as his last kiss. 

Then he started to speak, and the vibrations from his voice made you unconsciously grasp onto the excess fabric of his cloak; his voice practically seventy percent bass, though still naturally prominent and clear, even through being slightly muffled against the softest skin, “your love will keep me alive.. forever and ever.”

You let go of the small bit of bunched up material in your hand, still feeling the velvety, soft fabric against your skin as you pull him even closer to you, giving him a squeeze, doing it _so lovingly_ that he smiles and presses his face further into your neck, allowing you to feel it, a sense of sweet, undeniable warmth crashing over you, ease, peace, love, serenity, like being turned numb from your body being so frozen to having warm, hot water cascade down onto your skin, releasing all tension and bundling you up in safety. He was able to coax you into a soothing state of sheer and utter calm, surrender, and happiness effortlessly in mere seconds, 

“I love you so much, techno..” the words seemed to just pour out of you in moments like this, you simply could not help it, nor stop it, it was like there was absolutely no filter between your heart and your vocal cords. You weren't even sure you were really speaking out loud, but if you gave it an extra penny of reconciled thought you’d know a thousand percent that you did and that you’d let them spill a million times more. For you were grateful for the lack of filter, there was no interference of worry and techno needed to hear that, he always did, your confessions of pure love, he swore he could get drunk on just them alone. it filled him up to the brim knowing you loved him, savoring every last syllable, and chanting it to himself like the sweetest prayer. He said he was bad at _rememberin’_ , but he had every, "i love you" let alone everything you’ve said hand-ingrained into his mind. 

He would rip his own heart out of his chest in seconds and lay it in your gentle hands and trust you enough to not crush it where you stand.

And even if you did, he would mend the pieces back together, and put it in your hands once more, and trust you not to crush it where you stand.

Oh god how you loved him so much, loved him more than anything you’ve ever loved in your entire life and more, a trillion times more. You love him so much that you cry thinking about it.

You laughed so easily with him, experienced joy so unbelievably easily with him. He is like the month of october, the favorite month of them all, when the weather changes it before you know it and it’s all just bliss and child-like excitement, especially with halloween approaching. 

He’s lovely.

No amount of words in any universe, in any language would ever be enough to describe nearly enough how much you love him. 

The fur on the back of his collar brushed and tickled against your arms. 

He wasn’t even a king, he wasn’t any kind of royalty or authority; he was more of a vigilante really. And yet, he wore a mantle. A true, deep red— not pink, not orange, perfect in color and contrast, mantle. Sleeves hanging uselessly behind him, fur also lining the cuffs. Virtually, he never actually wore the robe like how it was intended when he was home. he was relaxed, playful, and having fun. A lot of the times he'd take it completely off after a decade of minutes, resting it on a chair nearby as it took the form and pooled around it on the floor. Along went his crown, set aside on a table, or stack of books, wherever nearest to him. 

You imagined that the dense material would get heavy and begin to hurt his head after sitting atop the prettiest of pink lemonade hair after an hour’s time at maximum let alone all day.

you also imagined the beautiful crown would slip and fall off during the day, but to wonderous surprise, it was loyal to staying. so loyal that even through him being hunched over with his face buried in the crook of your neck, it stayed balancing. 

More surprising was the fact that he hadn’t taken off the precious diadem yet, the pristine, cool metal aside your head. 

“You know i’m not gonna like.. die, right?...” his voice was low and hesitance was laced through it, like he was unsure if you really believed that he was going to get gravely hurt, if his reassurances— if his quip-like comforts did diddly-squat to calm the worrying waters. He never wanted you to have that niggling pit in your stomach raking its way up your spine, to your chest, and eating everything in sight until there is nothing but empty, brutally cold how it broods over the pot. 

He never wanted you to worry, not for him, albeit his heart bursted with warmth, not for or about anything.

Techno held you closer, firmer, had an extremely protective way about him. He was so unbelievably caring. And he was going nowhere. Would fight— and oh god how he would and he _absolutely_ could— fight tooth and nail to come home safe and sound to you. 

“I’m not kiddin’, your love will keep me alive forever.”

Before you could respond, he lifted his head up, tilted it to the side, and then plummeted his puckered lips into your soft cheek, making sure to make an obnoxiously loud, “mwah!”. The sensation paired with the unforeseenness of the act made a hysterical giggle impossible to fight off bubble up into your throat, filled with incomparable joy before you decided to repay him for his loving riskiness. 

You quickly raised your arm, delicately gaining a grip on his crown, and pulling it off of his head, a gasp falling from the pig man’s lips, his mouth hanging open dramatically.

Leaning in over to your right side, you set the jeweled crown down onto the hand-carved, antique console table for the moment’s notice. He smiles, a soft gleam paired with the permanent flush in the center of his face of which was now a deeper, redder tone of blush. His arms still around you, you bring both of your hands back to him, to his ears, soothing your fingers over the smooth cartilage, noticing how his muscles visibly relax further under your touch and how his head seems to start falling back, and you doubt that is any conscious movement on his part, just like how his eyes turn even more achingly tender as they slowly get heavier until he is just gazing at you dreamily through half-lidded lenses. 

He looks so gentle in moments like this. Because he _is_ gentle. And you can see it. 

You can see just how good of a heart he has, even clearer than usual, made out of purer gold than what was on his head. 

_how could anyone ever want to hurt him?_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry, this is a horrendous mess and is immensely bad. but i do hope that you enjoyed and have a lovely day. <3


End file.
